The Process of Changing
by Loco the Exclaimer
Summary: Oswald and Gus have a brief heart-to-heart during the calm before the storm. Oswald x Gus, oneshot.


_A/N: This is set just a little before Oswald starts to forgive Mickey the first time, up on Mickeyjunk Mountain. It's also chock full of spoilars, so look out if you haven't gotten that far because it has spoilers past that part too._

X.x.X.x.X

It's a dark night, but it's always dark. It's almost as though the sun has forgotten how to come up; dark clouds have blocked out the sky ever since it happened, and the only light comes from the lamps that line the street. Thanks to them, it's bright enough here on Mean Street, but out in other places like the Lonesome Manor… Well, it's always been dark at the Lonesome Manor, Oswald reminds himself. That's a part of the "charm."

It's cold out, too- a low wind is blowing in, and most of the residents of his little city are in their houses, keeping warm. Oswald is sitting up on the theatre roof, shivering a little, knees drawn up to his chest, looking out at the sky.

He can see some stars, between the clouds, out past the castle. Some citizens of Wasteland see them as a symbol of hope. Then again, some citizens of Wasteland just don't care, and don't think they're ever going to be able to go back to the way things once were.

What does he think?

Oswald sighs. He isn't sure any more. In the beginning, he thought, _yeah, sure, we can fix this. The hero conquers the darkness, and all that stuff._

But things didn't get any better when they sealed away the Blot. Ortensia was gone. He'd even lost some of his kids. His world was ravaged. Every attempt he'd made at fixing things was met with thinner and failure. He'd lost the respect and loyalty of most of the people in his kingdom.

While that _mouse_. Oswald growls just thinking about it. It isn't fair! He's lived the cushy life! Fans, friends, a nice home, a _heart_; he hasn't known hardship since his earliest days as an actor, and those he spent with the love and support of his creator-

Oswald shakes his head to clear it. He refuses to let the name pass through his mind, though not a day goes by when it doesn't. He looks out over the empty chasm beyond the projector screens and shivers again at the wind.

Now, that spoiled, lucky, stupid, worthless _mouse_ has come into _his_ world, turning Blotlings good, helping the townspeople, painting and fixing and restoring. He isn't sure how long Mickey will stay here but he hates it and he loves it, loves seeing his people happy but can't stand being shown up again and again by his _replacement_. Can't stand _seeing_ him.

He buries his face in his hands, rubs his eyes, looks back up at the stars again. He's sat outside looking up at them so often he's starting to question why he does it to begin with. Why he's doing it now.

"Oswald?"

The voice is familiar but he jumps nonetheless. He looks down at the person climbing up onto his perch to join him and after only a moment closes his eyes and looks away.

"Gus," he greets softly, his voice a quiet murmur. "What are you doing up here?"

A hand rests on his shoulder, and he opens his eyes but doesn't turn to look. "I was worried about you. It's way too cold out here for you to sit up here all night."

"Why does it matter?" Oswald breathes. He shakes his head and shrugs off Gus's hand; a shiver runs visibly through his body but he tries to pretend it didn't happen.

He can hear Gus shifting and feel him sitting down next to him. His ears flop forwards and his shoulders slump, and he doesn't have the energy to put up much of an argument as to the seating arrangements. If it was anyone else, he'd have squared his shoulders, folded his arms, and stood, tapping his foot and telling them they had no _idea_ what they were talking about.

He knows Gus deserves more than that. Even if he has been _helping_ Mickey all this time. Oswald has hurt Gus too, and right now he feels it would be petty to fuss about Gus helping to fix what little he could of Wasteland.

"You know it matters to me," Gus says, frowning. "Things are getting better, Oswald."

"I gave up thinking that a long time ago." Oswald says, body still drooping. Gus rests a hand on his shoulder and runs it down his arm comfortingly.

"…You've changed a lot." The Gremlin murmurs.

"The world's changed a lot." Oswald says right back. "You know, so many of these people didn't even get to see Wasteland before it was destroyed."

"Then in that respect, aren't you lucky?"

Oswald puffs up angrily, then lets it out in the form of a defeated sigh. "Not really."

Gus looks out at the sky quietly. His hand is still on Oswald's arm, and the unlucky rabbit can't help but appreciate the contact. They look up at the castle, the stars, the clouds, the sky, both silent, listening to the wind go by.

"He's doing a good job with Wasteland." Gus says finally. Oswald grimaces.

"I've noticed." He says unhappily. "Everybody loves him. But you know, he hasn't done that much."

Gus catches on. "As much as you?"

Oswald glances at Gus, ears pricking up slightly. Damn, at times it feels like Gus knows him better than he knows himself. His eyes flicker back and forth between the Gremlin's for a few seconds before he lets out an aggravated moan and speaks, his voice sharp with frustration and anger. "I lost _everything_. And then I came here, and I lost everything else. With Ortensia, I sealed away the Blot before it destroyed all that we had left. And he patches up a few problems, stops some of the Blotlings, and he's a hero for it?"

"They've known him for a long time." Gus says softly, reasonably. "He's been a hero to them."

Oswald's ears go back and he glares out at the clouds. "Stop being right."

"And do what? Offer you pity? I know you don't want that." Gus sets his hand on Oswald's. The rabbit flinches in surprise, looks down at their hands, and slowly, relaxes.

"No." He blows softly at the air.

"Oswald… it isn't his fault."

Oswald growls, glares straight forward, and thumps his foot against the side of the theatre, but Gus can't help but notice that he doesn't move his hand.

They stay like that, fingers tangled together, silence draped over the street save for the light whistle of the wind as the dark becomes darker and the cold becomes colder. Slowly, Oswald stops glaring and being so tense, and his ears start flopping a little in the wind. Gus can feel him relaxing through his hand and along his arm and shoulder where they're _just_ touching.

As nice as it is, it's also incredibly cold.

"We need to get inside." Gus says finally, though he hates to tear himself away. Oswald blinks, startled out of his thoughts, and looks at the Gremlin for a moment.

"Yeah… yeah, you're right." He answers, rising to his feet. He looks up at the clouds once more, another shiver running through his fur. "And Gus?"

Gus stands as well, vaguely missing the feeling of Oswald's hand in his. "Yeah?"

Oswald rubs the back of his head almost awkwardly, glancing off to the side. "I'm not really good with the heartfelt friendship stuff… probably because I don't have a heart to begin with. But I want you to know that you've done a great job. Taking care of Wasteland, I mean. And… of everything I have left, you and the kids are what mean the most to me." He coughs awkwardly, kicking his foot. "Thanks for always looking out for me."

Gus feels a little color rush to his cheeks but he smiles anyway, hoping it isn't that obvious. "Anything for you, Oswald."


End file.
